


Hey Kid, You'll Never Live This Down

by alexenglish



Series: You're My Future [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Parents, Future Fic, Kid Fic, M/M, Micah Stilinski-Hale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-23
Updated: 2015-02-23
Packaged: 2018-03-14 17:29:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3419375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexenglish/pseuds/alexenglish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You went in my room?” he demands, body lurching like he wants to reclaim his possessions. He stops, though, reels it in and watches Stiles warily, eyes occasionally flicking up to Derek’s. “Why do you have my stuff?”</p><p>“You set the curtains on fire,” Derek says, flatly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hey Kid, You'll Never Live This Down

**Author's Note:**

> For the dialogue prompt: “You don’t need to protect me.”

There’s a reason Derek is going prematurely grey, he thinks idly, as he watches Stiles shift through their son’s magical paraphernalia. Not that they went looking for it. Micah left a spell unattended and almost set the house on fire in the process. Derek thinks of the easier days: the unruly omegas, alpha territory disputes, evil ex-girlfriends. It all seems much less complicated than dealing with a teenager. 

A teenager that has been getting increasingly more suspicious and distant from his loving parents. Who spends hours holed up in his bedroom without acknowledging his family. Derek knows it’s normal, part of the whole struggle to conquer adolescence, but it’s disconcerting. It feels like they just left the toddler stage where Micah was a cuddly little boy who refused to leave his dads’ sides.

“I have so many questions, I don’t even know where to start,” Stiles snaps, as Micah walks through the door. Derek just registered the kid’s heartbeat, his scent, right before he got there. Sometimes, Stiles’ timing is uncanny. Micah’s dark eyes widen as he looks at the spread laid out on the table.

“You went in my _room_?” he demands, body lurching like he wants to reclaim his possessions. He stops, though, reels it in and watches Stiles warily, eyes occasionally flicking up to Derek’s. “Why do you have my stuff?”

“You set the curtains on fire,” Derek says, flatly. Micah winces, face screwing up in a petulant expression that is _exactly_ like Stiles’. “Where did you get this shit?”

Micah narrows his eyes at Derek, taking deep breaths. Derek can hear his heartbeat slow down to a lazy pace as he calms himself. His chin tips up defiantly. Controlling his heartbeat so deliberately is new.

“Around,” he says. A lie that’s not quite a lie. He must have gotten that skill from Stiles. The way he automatically shifts into defensive body language is Derek’s influence. The way he leans forward and tries to command the space around him. The challenge makes Derek bristle in return, which is probably what Micah was going for if his little smirk is anything to go by. 

“Micah,” Stiles says, sharply, hand going under his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose. “This isn’t a joke. Some of those spell books are extremely advanced. There’s a lot of dark shit in there.”

“It’s _not_ a joke,” Micah says, petulantly. The body language stand-off he was having with Derek immediately stops as he turns towards Stiles. It rounds out into something that’s softer, more persuasive. Derek wonders when exactly Micah mastered appealing to both of them so unconsciously. He’s getting whiplash. “This is what I want to do, you can’t stop me.”

“Wow, way to jump the gun,” Stiles says, flinging his arms out at Micah angrily. There’s things that Micah will never see, especially when they fight. He’ll never register the way Stiles’ hands shake minutely: from anger, sure, but mostly from anxiety. Stiles is afraid of what finding all of this means. “I didn’t say you _couldn’t_. Maybe you should try talking to us before diving right into the deep end.”

“Why?” Micah asks, though Derek can see that made sense to him, the way his shoulders relax just a fraction. Stiles stares at him in disbelief, mouth slack. He looks at Derek, who just raises his eyebrows and shrugs. 

“It’s dangerous,” Derek supplies. He’s not one for the arguments. It took Stiles long enough to get Derek to open up about their own communication. With Micah, it’s a hundred times worse. Derek usually lets Stiles take the lead. It’s something that Stiles constantly pesters him about, but at least Derek stays in the kitchen when they even have these discussions.

“Dangerous?” Micah scoffs, all teenage arrogance. That’s _definitely_ Stiles. Stiles stiffens, immediately getting ready to get defensive. “I’m a werewolf! Dangerous is so -- so _arbitrary_.”

“It’s like you listen to _nothing_ _I say_ ,” Stiles says. He strides over to Derek and lifts his shirt over his head in one smooth, but angry motion. Micah rolls his eyes, because Stiles has made this point multiple times. “Magic. Hurts. Werewolves.”

Stiles jabs his fingers at the lightning bolt scars scattered over the curve of Derek’s shoulder. They’re faded to white, but still visible after all these years. Derek remembers the pain vividly. He thought he was going to lose his arm.

“A witch just touched your dad, _touched him_ \--” he cuts himself off. Micah’s mouthing the words to the story along with him. To be fair, Derek knew Stiles was going to start the story like that too. “Oh, no, you know the story, good I’m glad. How about you tell it to me?”

“I don’t need you to protect me!” Micah says, throwing his arms up in exasperation. Stiles mirrors the motion unconsciously. His hands come down sharply when he realizes what he did, glaring in Micah’s direction. Micah returns his glare, aims it at Derek as well, even though Derek has hardly been involved in this conversation at all. 

“We’re your dads,” Derek says, laying a hand on Stiles’ shoulder. If Stiles gets his way, him and Micah will be arguing until they’re blue in the face. Both of them share the infuriating trait of being stubborn to the point of idiocy. “We want you to be safe. If you’re really interested in this stuff, we can set up a talk with Lydia.”

“ _Dad_ ,” Micah whines, high pitched. Derek flashes blue eyes at him, looming. Micah’s eyes flash yellow in response, even as he rolls them and crosses his arms and tries not to act like a chastised beta. “Lydia’s _old_. Can’t I do training with Sophie?”

Derek blinks at him, then lets out a sharp bark of laughter. 

“Is _that_ what this is about?” he asks, unable to stop his grin. He honestly wasn’t expecting that. He was expecting Micah to be involved with a _cult_ at school, or something, not trying to impress a girl. Stiles looks utterly bewildered, while Micah sinks into his pout further. Stiles’ mouth drops open in surprise. 

“You like _Sophie_?” he demands, eyes glinting in excitement. Micah’s transgressions are momentarily forgotten. 

“Dads, stop, seriously,” Micah says. It’s a wonder that he doesn’t stomp his foot, but Derek supposes he’s outgrown that. It’s a shame he outgrew thinking people had cooties as well. 

“Just go to your room, we’ll talk about this later,” Derek says. It’s cliche, sure, but Derek can see Stiles’ mind trying to find a way to ask Micah about Sophie without putting Micah on the defensive. Derek doesn’t know if he’s ready for that conversation yet. Micah goes without much fuss, with one last glance towards the books. Apparently, now that they’ve promised to make arrangements, he doesn’t care all that much. 

Once the door to his room has closed heavily, Stiles slumps into Derek’s chest, burying his face there. He rubs his head against Derek’s skin before pressing a kiss on the skin, peppering them over Derek’s scar. 

“You knew he liked Soph?” he asks, eyes narrowing in accusation. Derek hums acknowledgement and buries his hand in Stiles’ hair, scritching and pulling until Stiles’ mouth slacks in pleasure. “We’re going to have to talk to Scott about our kids wanting to bone. Oh my god, if they get married, we’ll be papa-in-laws.”

“That’s a little hasty, don’t you think?” Derek asks, pulling Stiles’ hair a little harder. Stiles’ eyes flutter. It’s a fact of life that no matter how many decades they’ve been together, or _will be_ together, Derek will never get tired of Stiles’ reactions to his touch. “He’s only 14.”

“He was only just born,” Stiles says. “It was, like, yesterday, I swear.” Derek laughs, an agreement, but doesn’t respond, too busy pressing soft kisses into Stiles’ neck. Stiles sighs and lets him lick and suck, not bothering to move into the attention, just enjoying it. 

Derek hears the upstairs door swing open violently. 

“Don’t think I can’t smell that!” Micah shouts down, sounding embarrassed. “Go in your room! It’s specially modified for a reason!” Stiles groans and shoots a glare at the ceiling. 

“Close your door, Micah!” he yells. 

“Close your legs, dad!” Micah retorts, slamming the door. Stiles’ eyes are wide as saucers as he looks at Derek. That’s all it takes for Derek’s to start laughing, gasping with it. Stiles snorts out a giggle and then he can’t stop, tears prickling his eyes. 

“That’s your kid,” Derek reminds him, pulling him in for a slow, burning kiss. 

“ _Our_ kid,” Stiles corrects. Derek strokes his hands down the wings of Stiles’ back, knowing that even though they’ve had the conversation with Micah, Stiles is still anxious about it. Derek can feel the tension thrumming through him, the way his smile stretches tightly. Derek kisses his eyelids softly. “Why couldn’t he be determined to be a ninja, like Allison? He’s already a _werewolf_ , does he really need magic too?”

“Stiles,” Derek says, a low grumble. “We need to encourage his interests. He might get bored of it like you did, he is _your son_.”

“Teenagers are so difficult,” Stiles whines, shooting an amused look at the ceiling. Probably hoping Micah can hear him. If the responding _thump_ is anything to go by, he did.

“It’ll be okay. He might not want us to protect him, but we’ll do it anyway.”

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!


End file.
